Courtesan
by E.M.K.81
Summary: Estelle is a courtesan for the highest classes in Paris - she makes dreams come true for a princly fee. One day she has a highly unusual customer. (Leroux based one shot)


**Courtesan**

 _Summary: Estelle is a courtesan for the highest classes in Paris - she makes dreams come true for a princely fee. One day she has a highly unusual customer. (Leroux-based one shot)_

Estelle was not the youngest courtesan in Paris and she was not the most beautiful one. But she was the most expensive and with good reason - she knew how to listen to her customers, how to get them to tell her of their most secret dreams and then she was able to stage these dreams. Almost nothing was too unusual or too weird for her, but of course her prices were something only the richest men could afford.

She had a certain modus operandi: She would not go looking for customers, this was something far beneath her. She just waited if a customer would contact her - usually she would get a letter and she was often highly amused to find through what lengths men were willing to go to receive her answer secretly. Then she would invite them to her salon and they would discuss the terms of the service she would provide. She would always turn down men if they demanded something she thought too degrading or disgusting or violent. She could afford to turn customers down, she was none of the streetwalkers, she was **the** high-end courtesan.

Estelle was not surprised when one of her maids handed her another letter. The paper was expensive but the handwriting almost unreadable. It was another man who obviously wanted to meet her, he had heard of her from "a friend of a friend" and was curious if there was really a woman who could give him a taste of his dreams coming true. She should just place an advertisement in L'Epoque which should begin with a certain number, then the letter "P" and then the date and hour of the appointed meeting. He would come to her then. But their meeting had to be after sunset and before sunrise.

"I guess he's married," the maid said, "Otherwise he wouldn't need you to contact him so very discreetly."

"I guess he's a doctor," Estelle answered, "Have you seen his handwriting?"

* * *

A week later Estelle sat in her salon, waiting for her new customer. She had her servants and maids awaiting her orders and - should the need arise - to protect her. She wore a red dress that was made of the finest silk available and had her dark brown hair in an exquisite hairstyle that was the height of fashion. Her customers paid her well and expected to see her well-dressed.

She had seen much, but the customer her servant led into the room was a sight to behold. He was dressed from head to toe in black, his face covered with a black leather mask that revealed nothing but his eyes. If it wasn't for the darkness of the night she would have expected him to wear dark glasses too. His cape was made of black velvet, his suit of fine cotton. His shoes were shining and looked like he had bought them just that day. His hands were covered in leather gloves. He wore an elegant dress cane and a golden chain obviously for his pocket watch. She could see that his cufflinks were golden too. But his clothes seemed to be too large on him, he was very, very slim. The way he played with his cane told her that he was very nervous.

"Good evening," she greeted.

He gave a most elegant bow and returned answered: "It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame." His voice was a rich tenor voice with a dark timbre, a voice that made her think of black velvet and opium.

"Please have a seat. Tea?"

He sat down but reclined the tea. Of course he would not be able to drink with that mask.

"There is no need to wear cloak, hat and mask - my servants are really discreet," Estelle informed him.

He took off his cape but not his gloves and mask and hat. The little bit of skin she could see between his mask and collar was pale, she had never seen such pale skin but knew about nightguards or prisoners who had been kept in a darkened cell to be that pale. But no nightguard or ex-prisoner would ever afford her prices.

"Since this is our first meeting, nothing will happen tonight," she stated firmly. To her surprise he reacted not at all disappointed but relieved, he relaxed a little bit and put his cane aside. "Today we just discuss the details of our arrangement." He nodded, but didn't say a word. "Before we fix a price I need to know what you expect me to do?" she asked. This would be difficult for how was she to make his wildest dreams come true if he didn't tell her anything about them.

He stammered something she couldn't understand.

"Pardon? I can't understand you. How am I to make your wildest dreams come true when you do not tell me about your secret dreams?" She made sure to sound like it was fun to her when in reality it was just a well-paid job.

"I... my secret dream..." he stuttered and she was sure he blushed, "I want to... maybe..." Suddenly he got up and reached for his cape. "I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry for wasting your time. I can't do this."

Was this man a virgin? How could a man be so shy when he was talking to a courtesan? Surely his dreams were not more perverted than any other man's - and she had enough experience. "No need to be ashamed. Every man has dreams. Sit down and let me know your's."

He sat down like an obedient schoolboy. How old was this man? Right now he seemed so very young. Was he a teenager?

"Madame, I... for years I have but one dream... I... want to... know what it is like to be married, please."

She had trouble not to laugh out loud. This man wasn't married, that much was sure, for which married man would ask her to play his wife? "If that is your wish," she answered carefully, "Then I will pretend to be your wife for one night." This couldn't be bad, could it? "What kind of wife do you want me to be?"

"I don't understand..."

She laughed. She couldn't help herself. He was so very shy and confused, almost like a boy. "Well, do you want me to be a gentle, obedient and loving wife or a rather spirited wife, a domineering or quarrelsome wife?"

"Uhhh... a normal wife, I guess..." he answered helplessly.

"Normal?" she roared with laughter, "My friend, there is no normal wife. Every woman is different, there is no such thing as a normal marriage."

He looked so forlorn she suddenly felt the urge to comfort him.

"I'll be gentle," she said, deciding she would frighten him if she wasn't as gentle as possible. He looked like any normal woman could send him running in panic. This was going to be interesting.

"Okay," he answered as if he had no idea what she was talking about. Just how old was this man? His voice was not that of a teenager but he acted like a very young boy.

"So... let's talk about this dream of yours. You want to act like a married couple. That's really sweet - but I need to know more. Aristocracy? Upper class? Working class? Are you coming home from work or are you man of independent means?" she asked all business now, "How do you wish our flat to be?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Upper class, I guess... and yes, I am a man of independent means. The flat should be tidy, elegant, but not too much..."

"Very well. I guess I can picture that. So... what are we going to do?"

He shrugged. "What normal people do, I guess."

She laughed. "O my. You don't have a clue what you really want, do you? There is no limits how a married couple would spend the evening and the night - you can ask everything. Some men even want me to be angry with them and scold them for coming home late."

His eyes went wide. "Why would someone want to get scolded?"

"Never mind that," she replied with a casual waive of her hand, "What do you want?"

"A weekend," he answered, "From Saturday evening to Monday morning. Make it as normal as possible."

She groaned silently. "That will be expensive. You know that you have to pay in advance and get nothing back even if it is not satisfying?"

"Money is of no consideration," he answered and the sudden coldness in his voice made her shudder.

"As you wish. A normal weekend, from Saturday at dawn - let's say eight p.m. to Monday before sunrise, let's say four or five a.m.? That would be... if your wish is really just a normal weekend pretending to be married, let's say 10.000 Franc and you pay for expenses like food, wine or theater tickets or whatever. If you want something unusual, I'll charge you extra."

"Done. And please - I really want this to be as normal as possible. But I have to insist that you never take of my mask or even mention that I am wearing a mask."

She had waited for him to tell something about the price being to high but he did not. Secretly she wondered if she should have asked for more when he so easily accepted that substantial amount. "But you can't eat or drink with that mask?" she mentioned.

"I'll be wearing another mask that allows me to do these things," he assured her.

"Good. Then we see each other in three weeks time."

"Three weeks?" he seemed to be terribly disappointed.

"I already have dates for the next two weekends."

"Cancel them!" he ordered in a voice that didn't allow any objection.

"That would cost me..."

"I'll triple the sum you asked. Next weekend!" he insisted.

Triple the sum? Had she really just heard that? She thought about it for some time. "If you make it 50.000 Franc you can have next weekend," she offered, sure he would reject that offer.

"Done!"

"So... if we are to be husband and wife, what do I call you? What will you call me?"

He was utterly confused, so Estelle decided to inform him of her business: "It is your dream. You can give me any name you like and I will call you whatever name you like to give yourself."

"Erik. I am Erik and I will call you Estelle. Estelle is your real name, isn't it?"

"Yes, Estelle is really my given name," she answered, "No need to answer, if you do not want to - is Erik your real name?"

"No. But I like it best."

* * *

Estelle was sitting in one of the many flats in her large house, the one she had decorated to look like a normal upper class flat, and read a book, waiting for her masked customer. Exactly at eight p.m. the maid announced cheerfully that Monsieur was home. Estelle had taught her servants to act the assigned roles and they did well. As upper class couple they would have a maid, so she had one maid there - plus two male servants who stayed hidden in a secret room where they could hear her if she would scream the secret keyword so they could rush to protect her should the customer hurt or threaten her. One of them would already have taken the money from the customer or he wouldn't be allowed to enter the house.

Erik entered, dressed all in black again, only his mask was beige leather, fitting smoothly to his face, giving him a rather handsome face. She wondered if this mask was done to fit his face or if it was completely different to keep his identity secret. The mask did not cover his lips and chin.

Estelle, in her role as wife, put her book away and went to greet her 'husband' happily. "Hello Erik! I'm so happy you are finally home, I was a bit worried about you. It is such a dreadful weather, isn't it?"

He stiffened and didn't react. Obviously he had not understood that the game was already played. "Erik? You are my husband..." she reminded him, falling out of her act for a moment.

"O. Yes. Sorry." He was new to this game. But he composed himself and put on a friendly smile. She studied his thin lips. They were very thin and wrinkled like a very old man's. But his movement's were not that of an old man. "Hello Estelle," he greeted and handed her a bunch of flowers. He had bought her twelve red roses.

"They are beautiful! Thank you!" Estelle said as she took them and was about to call the maid to bring a vase as she noticed something on her wrist that had not been there moments ago. It was a beautiful bracelet with large diamonds. Estelle stared at the bracelet. Had he slipped it in her wrist as she took the flowers? Was this a real one or a fake? The diamonds seemed to be real... "Erik... I don't know what to say..." she stammered.

"Then you like it?" he asked shyly.

"Yes, very much, thank you!" she tried to embrace and kiss him but the way he stiffened at her touch was almost frightening. "Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

"No... I mean yes... I... ugh... No kisses. I... don't want that."

"You don't? Okay, then no kisses. A peck on the cheek perhaps?"

He exhaled and nodded. She embraced him gently and kissed his masked cheek. He smelled of expensive aftershave. Surely he would want the bracelet back in the morning? It was all a game. But if he wanted to play the loving husband who brought a gift for his wife as overture to a good night she had to play along.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked, trying to get into some conversation.

"Do all wives ask their husbands such questions?" he asked curiously, falling out of his role and taking that of an observer.

"I suppose," she answered, "But you don't have to answer if you do not like."

"No... it is nice to be asked. I... do you want a true answer?"

"As you wish. You can tell me everything and I will believe everything. It is your dream and you pay well for that," Estelle reminded him.

He sighed. "I'm not good in this..."

"Erik, I do not mind. There is no audience to impress. Just... do what you like to do."

"What do normal couples do before supper?" he asked helplessly.

"Whatever you want. Read the newspaper, have tea, play the piano..."

"You have a piano?" he asked excited.

"Yes. Do you wish to play?"

"Does Estelle wish Erik to play for her?" he asked and Estelle bit her lip not to laugh out loudly at his odd way of speaking.

"Yes, very much."

He took off his hat, revealing a nearly bald head except for some brown strains of hair. The skin on his head was extremely pale. Estelle wondered if he was very old. He took off his gloves and revealed his hands. They were long and bony, the joints protruding like a mummies hand. Estelle had seen that in very old and sick men, she wondered if he was sick and therefore had rejected to kiss her. Did he expect her to make sleep with him? Of course, he had paid 50.000 Franc, he surely wouldn't be contend with a peck on his masked cheek.

They went to the livingroom where she had a piano. She didn't play herself but sometimes customers asked her to hire a pianist so their evening would be accompanied by music. Now Erik sat down at the piano and tried some keys, to his satisfaction he found the instrument well-tuned. "Sit down at the settee and do not move!" he ordered harshly, "Do not get up and whatever you do - do not touch my mask!"

Estelle sat down obediently, wondering why he was suddenly so angry. Hadn't he wanted a gentle game? A curious man, but obviously horribly afraid she might recognize him. Estelle noticed that he watched her carefully from his place at the piano. His eyes never left her as he began to play. She had many customers who wanted her to be excited at their skills - even if they couldn't play - but this man played like he was one with the instrument, like music was the air he breathed. She had never heard anyone play like that before.

When he finished, she noticed that she was crying involuntarily. His music was so... great, harmonic, loving, terrifying, passionate all at once.

"Are you a concert pianist?" Estelle asked.

"No," he answered plainly, "Do you wish me to play more?"

"Yes, please!" It was not hard to ask for more. He was such a great pianist. He played another piece for her, like the first one she had never heard it before. When he stopped playing she asked truly excited: "That is great! What is this? Who is the composer?"

"Thank you. I am the composer," he answered, sounding so very sad, "And this is called ' _Skandinavian Sky_ '. The first one is ' _Desert Night_ '."

"You are a composer? I do not think I ever heard something composed by you," Estelle couldn't help falling out of her role now for she was so excited to hear his truly great music.

"Erik is a composer, yes, but... he does not wish his work to be published," he answered cryptically, "But of course Erik would be delighted to play for Estelle."

"O yes, that would be wonderful!"

They spend hours with his music, Estelle sitting unmoving where he had told her to sit and listening to his playing and - when he relaxed a bit - his magnificent voice as he dared to sing.

Both were startled when the maid announced that dinner was ready.

Estelle noticed the chance in Erik's stance as he offered his arm to take her to the dining room. He seemed to be rather relaxed and happy now as if the music had helped him to overcome whatever anxiety he had suffered. To her surprise she found him pleasant company for dinner. He knew so many stories to tell and it was a real pleasure to listen to his wonderful voice. She wondered if he was one of those rare men she liked to meet in private, just for fun, without any payment being asked. Looking at his hands she decided he was a man to spend a nice evening with, but surely not the night. Not without proper payment. His body was so very slim, she was sure he was bony and she would have to be careful not to get bruised by his protruding bones. Caressing him must feel like caressing a washboard.

When they ate she noticed that his teeth were brownish and crooked, some missing. Not a mouth one would want to kiss so she was happy he hadn't insisted on kissing earlier. He did not eat much. Just a bit of soup, he barely touched the meat and ate only a teaspoon full of his dessert. He did not touch the wine either, only drank a bit of water. No wonder he looked like he was starving.

"Erik - is the meal not to your liking?" she asked, wondering if he would rather have something else.

"It is good," he answered, "Only I do not have such a great gustatory sense. But this does not matter, I... I like this evening very much."

They spend the evening sitting on the lush carpet before her chimney, staring in the flames, all other lights extinguished, as he told her about foreign countries. This masked man who called himself Erik was really one of those rare men Estelle hoped to see again. He was great company and thinking about him telling her stories or playing his music for her. She liked sitting there, she liked his shyness and how he carefully avoided touching her. He treated her with great respect - only few real husbands would treat their wives with so much respect - and surely never looked down on her.

It was late when she finally suggested they should go to bed.

He turned bright red and looked away. Was he ashamed of what they were about to do? Was he scared of his previous courage?

"Erik, it is late..." she said gently, "Don't you want to come to bed?"

He shuddered. Was he scared? He was not young, could not be, but he seemed to be so innocent and frightened. Estelle knew immediately she would have to be very gentle with Erik not to scare him away.

"Do you want to take a bath?" she offered. He nodded and she told the maid to prepare Monsieur's bath.

To Estelle's surprise Erik locked himself in the bathroom. She had guessed he might have wished her to come in - most men enjoyed her joining him in the large bathtub and the hot water - but he had locked the door carefully and took almost an hour until he came back, dressed in a black leisure suit he had obviously brought with him when he came. Estelle had noticed the black suitcase the servant had placed in the bedroom. Of course, if he was to spend the weekend with her, he would need some more clothing than just the suit he had worn when he arrived.

Estelle was lying on the bed, wearing a rose silk nightshirt and a red velvet dressing gown. She had expected him to come to bed immediately, but he did not. He took in a sharp breath and held it until she was worried he might faint if he wouldn't start breathing soon, then exhaled and lowered his eyes.

"Husband?" she asked, carefully staying in her role, "Don't you want to come to our bed?"

He stiffened visibly. "Don't even think of touching my mask!" he snapped.

"Certainly," she assured him, "I told you I am a good, gentle wife, as you wished me to be."

It took her almost an hour to coax him into the large bed and then he lay there stiffly, flinching from every touch. Nothing she tried helped, the more she tried to get him to relax, the more he tensed up. This wouldn't do.

"Erik?" she asked gently, "Tell me what you would like to do now?"

He was tensed up so much, she felt like having a wooden doll lying in her bed. He could barely breathe and she could see the fear in his eyes.

"Relax. We do not have to do it now. Our weekend has just begun, we have much time," she assured him and almost laughed at his sigh of relief. He actually relaxed a little bit.

"Can I... just hold your hand, please?" he asked shyly.

* * *

Estelle could not remember how long they had been lying side by side, he tenderly holding her hand. She must have fallen asleep at some point and obviously he had not wanted to wake her. She hadn't imagined having such a considerate customer. She was a courtesan - she was used to being used and treated like a soulless automaton. Yet this masked man was so very shy, she was absolutely sure he had never had a woman before, despite his age. She thought he was old, but in exceptionally good shape. From the way he moved he could be a ballet dancer.

She woke early only to find herself alone in the large bed. Erik was sitting in an armchair at her side, watching her wake. He was smiling. "Good morning, Erik", Estelle said and sat up.

"Good morning," he replied. She could see that he wore a black dressing gown over his leisure suit to keep warm. Did he have anything that was not black?

"Good morning," he replied, his voice gentle and loving. Was this man falling in love with her? She hoped he wouldn't, customers who thought they loved her always became a problem and a threat.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Yes, very well," he answered, "You are... beautiful when you wake up."

"Thank you," she said and asked if what he wanted to do now.

"Getting dressed and having breakfast?" he suggested with much uncertainty, "Then we could go to church."

"You aren't a priest, are you?" she asked, suddenly his innocence seemed to make sense.

He chuckled. A pleasant, happy chuckle. "No, Estelle, I am not. I'm not the religious type, I just... thought that going to church was what a normal couple would do at Sundays."

She chuckled with him and saw his smile. He seemed to be amused about his ignorance.

"We don't have to," she said, "Not all couples attend to church regularly."

* * *

Breakfast was as odd as supper for Erik did not eat much. He ate only half a croissant and had a cup of tea. Nothing else, not even butter. With much persuasion from her he ate a grape. One grape. No wonder he was close to starvation.

"Would you go for a walk with me?" he asked shyly, both hands trembling as if he was afraid of her answer.

"Yes, that would be nice," she answered. She had no wish to go for a walk on that rainy and rather cold Sunday, but it was 50.000 Franc and she had done nothing to deserve that really ridiculous fee. Why wear a mask to protect his identity when he was about to go for a walk with a notorious courtesan? Did he expect her to hide her face as well? She could always wear a hat with a veil.

She told the maid to call a cab and got her cloak and a hat with a veil. Erik smiled as he saw her like that. "You don't need to hide your face. You are beautiful," he said with a sadness that caused a deep pity in her. Was he deformed? Was that the reason for the mask? The way he had said the word 'beautiful' indicated that he himself suffered some severe deformity.

"But I want to," she answered and he accepted that with a gentle seriousness she couldn't quite place.

* * *

They were almost alone in the Bois as it was early Sunday morning, it was cold and it was raining cats and dogs. Erik didn't seem to mind. He carried a very large umbrella - which was quite heavy - to protect them from the rain, but the wind caused the water to hit their legs so Erik's black trousers and Estelle's green dress were soon drenched in the rain.

Estelle wondered how Erik's eyes never left her. He didn't care where they went, didn't care for the grass or the trees or the pond - he savored each and every moment of walking at her side, her hand on his arm as they walked like a married couple. Estelle couldn't understand why he looked at the same time contend and sad, why he was smiling but his smile was filled with such a sadness.

* * *

Estelle was trembling with cold when they returned to her house. "I need a hot bath and then a hot tea!" she said, not caring about her role now. Her servants rushed to prepare the bathroom in the "upper class flat" she had chosen for this weekend.

When she was lying in the bathtub, enjoying the hot water to warm her cold legs, the door opened a little bit. "Come in!" she called out. In her job there was no modesty.

Erik came in, carefully avoiding his eyes. He had changed his clothes, she noticed, and now he stood there with his hand covering his eyes. "You may look at me," she said laughing, "In fact, I would enjoy if you cared to massage my shoulders."

His jaw dropped and he blushed. This man really was so terribly shy, she wondered if she would have to force him to fulfill his own dreams. Erik trembled as he reached for her neck and gently caressed her naked shoulders. "You might touch me," she assured him, "I told you - right now I really would enjoy a massage. You know what a massage is?" He did not. She was not surprised that she had to tell him what to do, but then his fingers danced over her neck as they had at the keys of her piano.

"Is that... right?" he asked nervously.

"Yes. Thank you, Erik."

"My pleasure."

Estelle wondered if he was one of those men who liked to submit themselves to a woman. But then - he didn't act like that. He acted more like he really had no idea what a husband would do or would not do. It was not that he liked to be told what to do - but he had absolutely no clue about being married. How could this be? Surely he would have parents? Surely he would know some married couples to know at least something?

When Estelle came out of the bathtub Erik looked away again and handed her a large towel, his head turned aside in an ankle she wondered if he would rather break his own neck than see her naked body.

"Don't you want to dry me?" she asked. He trembled as he forced himself to turn to her. Estelle wondered if he would faint now or bolt and run. He did neither, he took the towel from her hands and carefully dried her as if he was wiping dust from a precious porcelain sculpture. She carefully studied his movements, his eyes. He looked at her with the innocent wonder a child would but gave no indication that he would now want to lie with her.

Instead he helped her to get dressed and shyly thanked her. He seemed to be very happy as they settled down in the livingroom again and he sat at the piano and played for her. It was yet another music, gentle, happy and sad at the same time. Erik was not able to talk about his feelings. All he could do was expressing them in his music.

"What was that?" Estelle asked.

"Do you have paper and a pencil for me?" he asked. She knew he was asking for music paper but she had none so she handed him normal paper. He drew the lines without needing a ruler, but if she had not known otherwise she would have sworn that it was impossible to draw lines so accurately without. She watched fascinated as he wrote down the notes, sometimes played a certain part again and altered it slightly as if he had just now had a better idea.

Finally he handed her the paper. "For you," he said simply.

She stared at the notes. She was no musician herself, but she understood that it was a great gift he had given her now. He had written her name on top of the first sheet. "You call that... 'Estelle'?" she asked.

He nodded, not saying anything. He was crying.

"Erik?" Estelle asked worriedly and edged closer. He just shook his head. When she touched his shoulder, he tensed, but soon relaxed and took her hand in his, entwining their fingers, holding her hand in place on his trembling shoulder.

She was still standing behind him, her hand on his shoulder, when the maid informed them that lunch was ready.

* * *

It was no great surprise that Erik did not eat much. He barely touched his food but he seemed to be thirsty for he drank a couple of glasses of water. Estelle noticed how very tired he suddenly looked and asked if he would like to rest a bit. Erik was really tired - he had not slept the night before - and gratefully locked himself in the bedroom. Estelle wondered why he felt the need to lock himself in, but accepted this. This already were the easiest earned 50.000 Franc of her life.

Erik woke at about six p.m., feeling much better now that he had slept a few hours. He did not know how to go on, he had one night left of his weekend and was not sure what to do. He got up, cleaned himself up and changed into his most elegant suit he had brought with him. It was new, he hadn't worn it before.

Estelle noticed Erik, again dressed in black, when he quietly came to the livingroom. She put her book away and asked if he liked to sit at the chimney with her while they were waiting for dinner. He sat down at the lush carpet and watched her as she build a fire. She liked to build a fire so she didn't call the maid to do that. Then she sat at his side and leaned her head against his shoulder. He flinched first and tensed up, but did nothing to prevent her touch.

"Skandinavian Sky - I... I did that one for her..." he suddenly started. Estelle was utterly surprised to hear about a woman in his life when he seemed to have no experience with women at all.

"Her?"

"Christine," he whispered, staring in the flames, "I would have laid the world at her feet. She chose wisely - she chose another man. Someone who... can't give her the world but give her the one thing I would never be able to give for I have never known it. Not one day."

"What would that be?" Estelle asked, moved by his outburst.

"Peace," he answered with a heavy sigh and turned to look at Estelle. "I love her..." he whispered and suddenly broke down sobbing.

Estelle cradled him in her arms like she would a crying child. She didn't know what to say. He was not the first one to cry in her arms over a lost love. Often lonely men came to her just to talk and payed large sums just for her listening and understanding. Even married men could be that lonely, but this Erik - he was lonely in a way she had never thought a man could be.

Erik did not know how long he had been lying in her arms, crying, telling her of his angel, of his Christine, the blonde angel from the north and her angelic voice. He told her about his passion, his deception, the painful jealousness, the flames of pain and anger that had consumed him when she had refused to be his alone - when she had defied him and fallen in love with another one. He even told her about that fateful night in the bowls of the opera house, of his dark threats, of his wish to die in an inferno that would have taken down the opera house and everyone within, killing thousands of people. "I was going to hell anyways," he whispered, "So it didn't matter if I killed thousands or millions - it didn't matter... I wanted to take revenge on the world that had rejected me. And an angel saved me. Christine, she... was willing to sacrifice her life, to become my wife, only to save her Raoul's life. She... kissed me..." He could not go on. Again his skeletal body was wrecked with terribly sobs as he clung to the woman he had payed to be with him. She didn't care about him, he knew, but he could not afford to be selective when it came to human company. What little comfort he could get he would take now, and if it was with the bitter knowledge that the woman who held him in her arms and comforted him did so for a large sum of money.

Estelle signaled her maid to keep away and not announce that dinner was ready. She didn't want to be disturbed now, sensing that this was what the masked man really had wanted - someone to listen to him, to listen to whatever he needed to tell. How lonely would a man have to be to pay fifty thousand Franc to a whore so she would just listen to him?

It was late when his tears finally stopped flowing. Estelle wondered if he had any tears left in his body now. Erik grew quiet and relaxed in her embrace. He must be uncomfortable, she mused, his back was bend in an awkward ankle and he had been lying in her arms in that position for hours. "We could skip dinner and go to bed," Estelle suggested, gently stroking his thin hair.

He nodded and pulled himself up stiffly, but didn't say a word. She took his hand to lead him to the bedroom and climbed on the bed, gesturing for him to lay down at her side. She was not sure how to proceed - she didn't know what he wanted to do now. Most men would appreciate making love now, but with him she was not sure. He settled down at her side, his head resting at her breast.

When she reached for his clothing he grabbed her wrist with so much force she cried out in pain. "No," he stated firmly, "Just... let me hold you."

"Don't you want what you've paid for?" she asked, completely out of any role, just being herself.

"I already got more that I hoped for," he answered with the same sad smile she had seen when they walked in the rain, "Thank you."

Estelle gestured to the bracelet. "You will want this back," she said.

Erik shook his head. "No. I do not need it any longer. Keep it."

"Erik, I can't accept this! Fifty thousand Franc and this bracelet for nothing at all! You didn't even eat or drink properly! Even I have my code of honor, I can't..." Estelle exclaimed in protest.

"Keep it, Estelle. I asked you to give me a taste of what it might be like to be married. I got a small glimpse in the flicker of an eye of what it might have been like - that is enough for me. This way I stay faithful to her, to my Christine. I'm contend. I had a taste of everything the world can offer to a man, I can imagine now what a marriage might have been like, I do not need more."

Now it was Estelle who cried. "Erik..." she whispered.

He put one finger to her lips, silencing her. "Shush, Estelle. I have enough of tears. Just... let me sleep in your arms tonight. I'll be gone in the morning. Thank you for being yourself, Estelle. I know it is a privilege to know you as yourself and not just acting the role you are asked to play."

"Will you come back?" Estelle asked, afraid of the answer but she thought she already knew.

"No," he said, again with that sad smile, "I'm going to die alone."

* * *

When Estelle woke in the morning he was already gone. On her night table she found earrings with large rose pearls and a note: "Pearl oysters have to die to give the most beautiful pearl to the world."

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 _Sometimes inspiration strikes so I wrote this in only a few hours. There might be typos or grammatical errors but I don't care much about them now._

 _Hope you like this rather long one-shot. Please review!_


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